Page 12 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Eleven

T he moment Aiden’s magic began to work through me, I passed out. When I woke, I was sprawled out across my bed. The barely there light from the window created shadows in a new location of my bedroom. My head still ached, but not as fiercely as before, and my face felt sore and puffy. I reached for my nose, tenderly checking that it was there and nose-sized.

“It’s exactly as it was before,” Aiden said.

I turned on my side, finding him sitting on a chair across from the bed.

He stood quickly, his hands out as if trying to calm a wild beast. “Easy. Slow. You’re okay now, but you’re going to feel, uh, delicate there for at least a day.”

“Delicate?” Dario snorted.

I found him at the foot of my bed, his legs crossed before him, boots unlaced, elbows resting on his knees.

“Well, let’s go, Your Grace. You heard the healer. Lay back down with your oh-so- delicate nose.”

I tried to roll my eyes, but that was too painful. I settled for following orders and lying back on my pillow, noting Garrett in the opposite corner, a worried look in his eyes. His blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, like he’d been pulling at it with anxiety.

“Hmmm.” Dario crawled toward me over the blankets until his knees straddled my hips as he bent his face toward mine.

“What are you doing?”

“Examining its delicateness up close.” He grunted. “I don’t know, Aiden. It’s a little too…” Scrunching up his own nose, Dario sat back, careful to keep his weight off of me, and held his hands like a picture frame before his face. “Hmmm,” he said again, his voice full of concern. “It’s a little too delicate. You fucked up, man. I think you made him even more handsome.”

“Fuck off,” I said and closed my eyes. My vision was bleary, and I didn’t want to admit it, but I was dizzy.

Dario laughed and climbed off of me.

“You do know that delicate was explaining how he would feel , not look,” Aiden said pointedly.

“Please, for the love of all the Gods,” Dario said. “Try and be fun.”

“How many hours has it been?” I asked.

“Well, you missed breakfast and lunch and all chances of eating the very early dinner of a very elderly man.” Dario gave me a death-stare that said he’d punch me if I moved. He reached forward and gently fluffed my pillow beneath my neck before pulling the blanket back around my waist. Another death-stare told me what would happen if I thanked him.

“So, a while, then,” I said instead.

“How do you feel now?” Aiden asked, walking forward. He pushed Dario back to the edge of my bed and sat beside me, his palm over my forehead.

“Better than when you found me.” My stomach sank as the events from the morning came back to me. “Do we know anything? What happened to Kenna? Is she… is she all right?”

Dario shook his head. “We know nothing. The fuck happened before we got here?”

I sat back up, Aiden helping me get comfortable.

“We’d just woken up. Kane burst in here, demanding she come immediately in her nightdress. He refused to leave or give her any privacy. So, I threatened him. The bastard punched me. Twice. Bowen handed over her clothes. She got dressed. They left.”

“Fuck,” Dario said. He turned to Garrett. “You know anything?”

“My own illustrious father hasn’t exactly been forthcoming lately. Or ever. All of his spare time has been spent focusing on the planning of the Alissedari. Like we are.”

“I don’t know anything either,” Dario said, defeated.

Three fathers on the Council, three rulers of Glemaria, and none of us could help Kenna or would be privy to what had actually happened.

“Let’s see if she comes to the welcome dinner,” Aiden said. He moved off the bed and joined Garrett’s side, their hands instantly together. He seemed to sink into him like they were actually one body that had been forcefully split apart and only achieved perfection when together. He smoothed Garrett’s hair wavy down, and the furrow between his brows unwrinkled.

“Shit, the dinner,” I said. My father’s pre-birthday and anniversary celebration. “When is that?”

“One hour,” Garrett said.

I groaned. One hour. One hour before I had to be fully dressed as the Heir Apparent at the entry to Seathorne to welcome our special guest, Her Royal Highness Queen Ishtara of the Star Court, High Lady of the Night Lands.

“The eldest daughter of Glemaria’s arkturion isn’t going to miss a dinner with the Afeyan Queen. Nor would she miss the first official festivities of the tournament and your father’s birthday,” Garrett said confidently.

“And if she isn’t there?” I asked.

Dario’s aura darkened, cold shadows spiking. “Then, we find out where she is.”

“We don’t have much time,” Garrett said. “Not your fault, but we lost all of today for plotting and practicing tomorrow. We’re not going to be able to make a final run-through of the Pits either. So, we need to prepare now as much as we can, finalize our strategy, and continue sticking together.”

Dario clapped his hands. “Let’s get our boy dressed.”

“Can you stand?” Aiden asked under his breath. He still looked worried I had a head injury.

“I can,” I said. Inside, my stomach was shredding itself into pieces. Something was wrong, and somehow, Kenna was at the center of it.

An hour later, we were all dressed in our soturion-best. Our leathers freshly treated, Valalumir stars sharpened and shined at the edges of our belt straps. All of our swords were gleaming, and our cloaks had been freshly pressed . Except for Aiden, who’d opted for a new black jacket beneath his blue mage robes. While I’d been out, Aiden had taken over Kenna’s job of ensuring my leathers, along with Dario’s and Garrett’s, were waterproof. He’d also worked over the glamour magic of our cloaks, heightening the camouflage one more time after he’d fixed my nose.

Bowen and two more escorts flanked me and my friends as we made our way to the front doors of Seathorne. The herald announced us each by name, and then we were all instructed to join the lineup, each of us standing with our familial Council members, shivering with cold from the opened doors. Everyone who was anyone in Glemarian nobility stood present except my father. He, of course, had to make a grand entrance. Only when I’d been directed to my place beside my mother, whom I’d anxiously looked over for any signs of bruising or new wounds, did I find Kenna.

She stood beside her father and the whole of Ka Gaddayan, her entire body stiff. She stared straight ahead, wearing a silk green dress with long sleeves. Sleeves that covered her wrists. My stomach turned. I’d never seen her wear this dress before—Kenna loved the color yellow. She’d filled her wardrobe with it. Her long brown hair was worn down her back as usual, but half of her locks had been braided into a crown that nearly lay across her forehead. Almost like a diadem.

“Ken,” I hissed.

She sucked in a breath, her chest rising enough for me to know she’d heard me. But she didn’t look my way.

Kane however, turned with a disgusting glare. His eyes flicked between me and my mother, and then he straightened his red cloak and black leathered armor, his attention back on the doors.

Lord Draken, who’d held his post as Second, suddenly departed.

“His Highness, Arkasva Devon Hart, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North,” announced the herald.

We all turned, falling into low bows and curtsies for my father as he strutted into the hall, his version of a humble smile on his face, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Everything had been polished and shined to perfection: the red stone in the black leather hilt, the Valalumir stars at the bottom of his leather strapped belt, and the Laurel of the Arkasva, glittering with gold leaves atop his head. He was the picture of power, and his cold aura left shivers across my skin, as he took his place and signaled for all to rise.

My father was met with shouts of “Happy birthday, Imperator,” and “Congratulations,” and “ Tovayah maischa” on his long and successful rule of Glemaria.

Then, everyone stilled, silent as explosions beyond the fortress stole our attention. With the doors opened and the curtains of the ceiling-high windows drawn back, we had a clear view of the night sky. It still snowed, and several snowflakes were blowing into the hall. Not a single star could be seen.

But at another explosion, the entire night sky lit up. A giant golden Valalumir star materialized and then split into a thousand smaller Valalumirs falling softly to the grounds.

It was just enough to light the snow-capped cliffs of the mountains beyond, the snow-topped pine trees. Small slivers of gold and silver peeked out from the leaves of the sun and moon trees. Beyond it all were two small fires. I frowned, watching the fires blaze and rise higher into the sky, undeterred by the snow.

The fires grew, moving closer and closer.

Wings. They were wings made of pure flame.

Agnavim. Fire birds. I’d never seen one before. They were survivors from the Drowning of ancient Lumeria, but they’d always been wild, refusing to be tamed by the Lumerians of the Empire. They resided in the Night Lands.

My breath hitched as the wings came closer, the flames forming a pattern like the feathers of a seraphim. Heat began to fill the hall, almost wiping out the chill of my father’s aura. I could feel the warmth of the agnavim on my face, like that of a blistering hot day in Bamaria.

The bird’s body seemed to be made of pure gold. On its back was a silver carriage, round in shape with a pointed top. Silver stars spun in circles over the tip.

An Afeya appeared in the center of Seathorne’s entryway.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I looked at a male or a female. The Afeya had always been far more fluid in their expressions of gender. But as I took in the Afeya’s clothing, I could see he inhabited a male body. Long limbs full of sinewy muscle were uncovered save for an ice-blue satin loincloth. His skin was also blue, with black whorls tattooed across every inch. A glittering diamond adorned the center of each whorl. His hair was long, obsidian, and hanging in silky strands down his back.

He bowed before the Council then slowly straightened, his neck snaking side to side, before he stepped forward with cat-like grace.

“We thank you, Your Highness, Arkasva Hart, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North, for your generous invitation.”

I stilled, my heart pounding as his violet eyes found mine.

I’d seen this Afeya before, in Bamaria, over two years earlier. He’d been at the solstice celebration, about to go to Lyriana. I’d broken all my rules that night and rushed to her on the dance floor to get her away from him. And I’d asked Jules about him, time and time again. In one of her last letters to me, she’d said he’d met with Aemon.

I pulled my gaze from the Afeya to spy on the Bamarian arkturion, but he remained calm—at least, as calm as he usually appeared. He was always just slightly on edge, just slightly angry, with a far too inquisitive yet pained expression on his face. The Ready made no signs of surprise or horror at the Afeya, just offered a simple nod in recognition.

A bell-like laugh sounded in my head.

My gaze fell back on the Afeya. He was still watching me, amusement in his eyes, his lips quirking into a sly smile.

“I am Mercurial, First Messenger of Her Royal Highness, Queen Ishtara of the Star Court, High Lady of the Night Lands. May I present to the good Lumerians of Glemaria, my queen?”

He bowed low, his eyes on me still as his head dropped.

Mercurial. That was his name. What had he been doing in Bamaria? What had he wanted with Lyr?

Before I could think any further, he vanished.

There was an audible gasp at the blatant showing of a vorakh. Of my vorakh. Mine and Garrett’s. Afeya were not held by the same rules as we were. They couldn’t be.

I found Garrett, his face pale, his fingers fidgeting at his side as if trying desperately not to mess with his hair as he stood proudly beside his father, Turion Efraim, his mother, and his younger sister, Vanya, who held his hand and looked up at her brother adoringly.

My back burned, reminding me again of the oath I’d sworn. The secrets I kept. The protection I’d always give to my friend.

Then, the door filled again, this time with a female Afeya, her skin appearing to be covered in thousands of tiny diamonds. A silver dress cut a low V across her chest, and a crown of glittering silver stars floated above her head.

She cast her aura forward—something only Afeya could do—and Seathorne’s hall filled with sparkling stars, too bright to look at directly. The flames of the agnavim puttered out, and darkness filled the sky.

“Welcome,” my father said. “Welcome to Glemaria, Your Highness, Queen Ishtara.”